Hen Night in Edinburgh
Written at 12:15 p.m. on 2006-05-15
Hen Night in Edinburgh.
If this entry is full of mistakes and makes no sense then please excuse me, I've had about 3 hours sleep all weekend and am now clinically brain dead.
Well I�m back from the hen night in Edinburgh and I had a much better time that I was expecting! I suppose that�s often the case with nights out, the ones you expect to be great turn out to be shite and the ones you expect to be awful turn out to be a laugh.
We arrived at the hotel in the blistering sunshine at about 4pm. The hotel was something that should be experienced by everyone and was very much in the Fawlty Towers mould. It was called the Dean Hotel and was in the middle of the most gorgeous Edwardian Crescent of 5 storey houses. We went inside to be greeted by an immensely cheerful man in a flowery shirt who was most enthusiastic. So we get our keys and off we go to find our rooms. I was quite surprised to find I was sharing a toilet and shower with 2 other rooms. I went in the room and the TV had no reception, the curtains appeared to be attached to the wall with string and the hot tap leaked. It was fab! Usually when I go anywhere I end up staying in one of the bland, homogenous, faceless hotel chains that stretch the length and breadth of the UK but this place was so full of character that it was brilliant. The woman who served us breakfast was as mad as a box of frogs. Bit scary woman with a difficult to understand Scots accent and the kind of voice that suggests cigarette smoking is not so much a hobby, more of a vocation. Fab place, would thoroughly recommend it (although my mum and Cass hated it because the window ledges weren�t very clean and the telly didn�t work).
Anyway, only me and mum had arrived, the others were in town doing some shopping so we sat outside at a little table on the huge doorstep drinking shandy in the sunshine. It was all VERY civilized. You should have seen mum�s face when the others arrived bearing plastic bags full of sparkly cowboy hats! My mother is not a sparkly cowboy hat sort of woman. V funny.
So we have a few drinks, get changed and head off into town for a meal. We go to a lovely Italian and have some food and wine. Well at least a few of us had some wine, the rest had spirits and this caused the first kick off of the evening. B (the prospective groom) has a sister called Lisa. She is the worst chav scrote I have ever had the misfortune to go on an evening out with. She already owed Joyce money for the plane tickets to Edinburgh and had demanded someone lend her money to go get drunk because she didn�t want to take her cash card out. Oh, and she nearly got the lot of them arrested by sticking her head out of the taxi on the way out the night before and shouting at various groups of lads to �Get your cock out�. Anyway, she kicked off about the bill. There were 15 of us at the meal, the wine bill came to �51 and the spirits bill to �45. She was drinking spirits and bellowing that since she didn�t have any wine she wasn�t willing to just split the bill between us all because she was �Fucked if I�m paying for their fucking wine when I�ve not fucking �ad it. And I only �ad one slice of fucking garlic bread so I�m paying the same as them fucking ones �oo �ad 2�. Quote. After 20 minutes (count them, 20!) of messing about we eventually decided to just all stick in 20 quid and be done with it as it would cover the tip. Which was when she kicked off again. �I�m not leaving no fuckin� tip coz you pay for that in the food innit?�. Give me strength. She wasn�t even paying for herself, she�d got her aunt to pay. And what really got me was that everytime she got up she flashed her knickers at me and Liz who were sat opposite. All I�m saying is she should definitely have bought them a couple of sizes bigger and whatever she paid for them she was ripped off.
We then moved on to a club called �The Jam House� which was a great laugh. I�d swear it was a predominantly gay club, if not there were an unusually large number of single women there. Had a great time, some highlights including finding the man who had been chatting me up at the bar and making him drinking the 2 shots of Sambuca Lou (the hen) had just presented me with and then taking the glasses back and pretending I�d drunk them so they wouldn�t get me any more (saw him later on and he was looking absolutely battered!), dancing with some men in kilts and getting called a �Dreamboat� by an exceedingly good looking man who had evidently just escaped from the 1950s. B�s sister continued to be a right bitch and kept threatening to tell B that Lou had been chatting up men. She�s obviously a total nutter.
Then, for some bizarre reason we walked home. I say bizarre because we were a good 2 � miles from the hotel. It took hours and on heels that is not a good thing. Today my thighs are so stiff from walking home on ridiculous wedge heels that I am walking like someone who has been kicked in the arse by a horse and thanks to some drunking head banging to a camp man in huge sunglasses and a shiny shirt singing the Rolling Stones my neck doesn�t move very well and I can only turn my head 2 inches to either side.
All in all, a really good time was had by all. Except Lou�s prospective sister-in-law who seems to permanently have a face like a freshly slapped arse. I got some pics but until I work out how to put them onto my diary (any advice welcome) then I�m afraid you�ll have to wait!
Am off now because I�m so knackered that I�m waffling and probably making no sense so I�m off to have a kip under my desk. With any luck no one important will come into the office and find me curled up next to the PC.
